ࡱ > E G D M 2 bjbj== .F W W . l , 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 $ U u D 8 8 8 8 8 D 8 8 8 Y 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 , +C V o 0 e ( e 8 [anything goes][sports][football] For Robin: Songs to Break Up with Thierry Henry To
Yes, yes, run everybody, it's those crazy football slash EP-makers again. I swear these are not the only fsts we do - it's just that they seem to be the only ones we ever finish in time. *sheepish*
The last time we posted that Becks/Gaz fst, we were following Man U, Liverpool, and Chelsea in the League. Half a season later, we've become so football-starved, we're following just about everybody: even Arsenal, whom, as the defending champions of the season we started watching football, are positively anathema to us. Oh, the shame! Oh well. Shame is easily alleviated by perving, and Robin van Persie [whom we often fondly refer to as Brat, because he is.] provides plenty of material for that - legitimately in our affections too, as we've followed the Dutch squad for years. [Aha!] Well. So much for the rest of the season - poor Brat, he was probably this close to bagging Arsenal's top scorer of the season spot, but instead now he's in what The Sun charmingly calls 'metatars-hell'. For all the joy he's brought us, it was only fitting to do this as long as it was going to be "Anything Goes" month. [That, and that we didn't manage to finish the Petr Skull Fracture Saga dual-FST in time.] I'm not going to go into the complicated dimensions of the dressing room drama surrounding Brat here that provides for a scenario like this - but I do here, so if you're wondering, just hop over for fic-context.
This one is a bit different - it's technically a mixdisc. It's a fictional 7-track mixdisc from Alex Hleb to Robin, poorly disguised in a short and amusing fanfictm set during the reported striker rift. [Therefore, I divest myself of all responsibility for the horrendous track selection] Why? 1. Because we thought it was funny. 2. Because we have way too much whiny emo punk on the same subject hanging around, and 90s pop survives. 3. Because we always wanted to use You're So Damn Hot for Brat. That's really all there is to it.
It was a difficult period for Cesc every time they decided to have a Cold War. It was a difficult period for everyone in the club to be fair, but Cesc especially, because Tomas was too new and too nice to be pulled into it, he himself wasnt stupid enough to do what he was told to do, and nobody else would even approach them without a ready escape route. The only saving grace was that it usually took no more than two or three days for them to kiss and make up, but this time it had been going on for over a week, and Cesc was probably right on the edge of breaking point. You go and tell the Captain, there was definitely an expression of unmitigated terror on his face when Robin abruptly turned to him, the white, slender fingers of his left hand suddenly choking the life out of the squeeze bottle he held in apoplectic rage, that if he still wants his fucking coat intact, he had better get it off my part of the bench! Cesc scuttled across the room to dutifully report, carefully cutting out the dodgy bits. Is that so? Thierry was a scary bastard when he got angry. Well, you can go and tell the brat that I can put my fucking coat wherever the fuck I want, and that he doesnt own the fucking bench anyway. Once more into the breach. YOU CAN GO AND TELL HIM TO FUCK HIS FUCKING COAT AND THE FUCKING BENCH AND JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE! Um, Robin, I dont think I can tell him that WHATEVER!! The bottle arched across the room and bounced heavily off the wall into a corner. Cescs hands were shaking with the utmost anxiety as Robin stormed out of the room. Definitely breaking point. He fired up his laptop thoughtfully. The brief but intense blast of what could be described only very barely as music electrified the entire room into alarm as he scrambled to plug in the headphones hed hitherto forgotten about. Sorry sorry! he called out in cheerful response to the agonised moaning emanating from the survivors. It wasnt enough to deter Gilberto from stepping over cautiously, faint dread mixed with an ill-advised curiosity. What the hell was that? I think they call it emopunk. Emo. Punk. The look that crossed his face vaguely suggested hed just swallowed a rat. Therere easier ways to kill yourself, boy. Oh, no no, he said, Im making a mixtape. Disc. For Robin. He added, helpfully. Therere easier ways to kill him No no, see? He turned the screen towards him: For Robin: Songs to Break Up with Thierry Henry To. Its supposed to be very effective, mixtapes. Discs. My friends visiting from Germany told me its very popular there right now. I figure if I give this to him, theyll either make up, or hell fall in love with me. Huh. Gilberto did not look convinced, I can tell you which one will definitely not happen. Good luck, boy. Youll see. He said. He was moderately sure of success.
He was very proud. One night of work was all it took, and he even had a cover and the tracklisting written out. The chilly silence that reigned as he entered the dressing room made it clear that the storm had not abated. It was perfect. Hey, princess, he tapped Robin on the shoulder as he passed. Normally calling him that during times of war would result in loss of life or limb, but today he was armed and supremely confident. Robin could sense confidence like a wild cat could smell fear. This threw his ire off, and he only said What? irritably. This he produced from behind his back, is for you. Whats this? he said suspiciously as he snapped it over. What he saw only served to heighten his fury. FIRST OFF, THERE WAS NEVER ANYTHING BETWEEN US, SO THIS IS NOT A BREAK UP. SECOND, I DONT NEED THIS KIND OF SHIT FROM YOU, ALEX! Relax, he grinned, catching him about the wrists, just listen to it first and then complain to me about it, okay? It was probably only the managers entry that stopped him from throttling him to death, but he noted with satisfaction that hed slipped the disc into his bag.
He got the call at around three am. Whu what? Whats wrong? he slurred sleepily into the phone. There was some crying, and a lot of screaming he couldnt understand. It sounded vaguely like Dutch. Robin? What? I HATE YOU! Ah, that he could understand. Robin arent you keeping the baby up like that? Does Bouchra know youre awake listening to songs to break up with Thierry Henry to? There was more crying and more Dutch. The line clicked off, and he got no answer to his call back. Well. He settled back into the nest of warm blanket with a smile. Not bad.
When he arrived at Hertfordshire the next morning, he found the early-comers lined up against the wall of the dressing room. Most of them were studying the ceiling or floor, but in a corner a poker game had started. There was a distinct sound of objects being thrown about coming from beyond the plaster. He could faintly pick out some insistent screaming. I think we can safely blame this one on you, Gilberto said. Well, you know, he shrugged thoughtfully, kitties are very unpredictable. Another poker game had started up. New arrivals entered the scene, stopped short, and sighed, slinging their bags against the wall and slumping to lean against it. Its probably the emo punk. Emo punk does bad things to even the nicest people you should have thought about that before you gave that thing to the princess. It sounds so much like him though. Its evil music. No you cant even call it music. I think youre overreacting. What I think is, were gonna be stuck out here forever, and its your fault. He shrugged helplessly and offered a sheepish smile. Gilberto shook his head in disgust. The PSPs had started to emerge. It was around this time that they noticed the sound of flying objects had stopped. It wasnt quite silent. He put his ear against the wall. Oh. Oh. OH. He shrugged and smiled again. Gilberto raised his eyebrows. Well, Ill be those mixtapes do work. Fine, I guess we owe you one. Thesuspicious noises were getting louder. The poker games momentarily ceased. There was what could possibly be politely described as a crescendo. People started picking up their bags hopefully. A minute later, the door swung open. Thierry surveyed the crowd, a towel slung over his shoulder altogether too casually. Whatre you doing standing out here? If you want to get in, get in! He strolled off towards the showers; nobody moved. Their caution was rewarded when Robin emerged from the room with his own casually-slung towel. He was already half-naked, and suffused with a healthy pink glow. He didnt say a word, but caught his eye for a hesitant second, parting his lips as if he meant to tell him something, only to draw them back together next, absently worrying at the lower one. Then they curved into a naughty little smile, and he was off after his captain like a shot. Damn, Gilberto laughed as they finally filed into the dressing room, cocktease. Sorry, boy. I told you one of those things wouldnt happen. He shrugged for the fourth time, hefting his bag onto his shoulder as he pushed into the crowd. Idly, he wondered if hed even ever made it to the bonus track.